will,
Its holy vigil keep.

Oh gentle youth, thou little thought,
When away in our north countrie,
That up and down, thro' all the town,
That ladye sought for thee.
And little little did thou wot
What in Euphan's room was seen,
Where, as she died, she whispering sighed,
"I die for Ballenden."[A]

[Footnote A: The reader will remember the romantic story of the
English A'Becket; but it would seem our Scottish advocate was
even more highly favoured. Nor is the romance in such cases
limited to the ladies. I may refer to the pathetic story of
Geoffrey Rudel, a gentleman of Provence, and a troubadour, who,
having heard from the knights returned from the Holy Land of the
hospitality of a certain countess of Tripoli, whose grace and
beauty equalled her virtue, fell deeply in love with her without
ever having seen her. In 1162 he quitted the court of England
and embarked for the Holy Land. On his voyage he was attacked by
a severe illness, and had lost the power of speech when he
arrived at the port of Tripoli. The countess, being informed
that a celebrated poet was dying of love for her on board a
vessel, visited him on shipboard, took him by the hand, and
attempted to cheer him. Rudel recovered his speech sufficiently
to thank the countess for her humanity, and to declare his
passion, when his expressions of gratitude were silenced by the
convulsions of death. He was buried at Tripoli, beneath a tomb
of porphyry which the countess raised to his memory. His verses
"On Distant Love" were well known. They began thus:

Angry and sad shall be my way
If I behold not her afar,
And yet I know not when that day
Shall rise, for still she dwells afar.
God, who has formed this fair array
Of worlds, and placed my love afar,
Strengthen my heart with hope, I pray,
Of seeing her I love afar.
]

VII.

THE ROMAUNT OF THE CASTLE OF WEIR.

I.

The baron has gone to the hunting green,
All by the ancient Castle of Weir,
With his guest, Sir Hubert, of Norman kin,
And a maiden, his only daughter dear--
The Ladye Tomasine, famed around
For beauty as well as for courtesie,
Wherever might sensible heads be found,
Or ears to listen, or eyes to see.
Nor merely skin-deep was she fair:
She had a spirit both true and leal,
As all about the Castle of Weir
Were many to know, and many to tell.
Right well she knew what it was to feel
Grim poverty in declining day,
With a purse to ope, and a hand to deal,
And tea